Vindicta
by Valdryfor
Summary: As she deals with the lingering consequences of taking a bullet to the head, the Courier sets her linear sights on New Vegas, where the man responsible awaits. Her body may be damaged, but her spirit burns with vengeful vitality.


"As… utterly _charming_ as this Silus fellow seems," Arcade began, crossing his arms as he stared into the interrogation room, "I think this is a waste of time."

She listened with her good ear from beneath the reinforced combat helmet and inclined her head in acknowledgement. "Eventually I'm going to deal with the Legion, anyway, so I might as well learn what I can from this miscreant while we're passing by."

Veronica stepped forward and touched the taller woman's arm. "Just let us know if you start getting dizzy again."

The former courier nodded and looked over when Lieutenant Boyd called her in. She proceeded inside the room, smelling musk and mold as the NCR officer walked past with the promise to check on their progress later. Her eyes narrowed through the dark shades of her helmet and settled on the disgraced centurion sitting on the filthy bench at the opposite wall. She reached up to unfasten her headwear, needing it off to maximize her hearing. The hatred in Silus's glare burned through her armor, but she brushed it off as she approached. Her spite was already reserved for another.

"What an ugly little worm you are," Silus hissed at once. "What pile of excrement did the lieutenant pluck you from…"

He trailed off when she removed her helmet, the disdain in his expression vanishing with comical swiftness.

"What was that? I'm hard of hearing, so if you intend to insult me, you should do so while screeching at the top of your lungs," she told him, sweeping back the long brunette ponytail that spilled over her shoulder. "If anything, it will give me a reason to permanently silence you."

He studied her in calculation, not quite dispelling the interest in his gaze. "It seems beauty walks hand in hand with false bravado. So tell me, what brings you here? What did the Legion do to you? Did we enslave your children? Slaughter your family before your eyes to teach you a lesson?" A smirk twisted his mouth. "Force you to your knees and order those sweet lips to service us?"

As none of the above applied to her, she kept her face neutral while straining to listen. "No. My malice isn't for you."

"So that means it's directed elsewhere?" Silus inquired, latching onto her statement. "Who was it that angered this armor-clad vixen that graces my sight?"

His Legion-drilled enunciation allowed her to catch his words, and she frowned at the attempted shift in subject. "I have a better question. How did a coward such as yourself attain the rank of centurion? From what I understand of Legion mongrels, you're taught to commit suicide to evade capture. Yet here you are, rotting in this cell, with an expiration date on the horizon."

Now his features darkened. He glowered up at her, the narrowed slits of his black irises impaling her vision. "You know nothing of what you speak, vile trollop. Coward? You dare! I have faced impossible odds, forged into battle carrying only a knife, and yet the enemy feared me. I am the very opposite of that offensive term," he seethed. "Suicide is a weak death on the battlefield. It's wasteful, pointless… _that_ is what cowards do. Because they know they cannot withstand capture without breaking; a feat I am succeeding at as we speak."

It took her a bit to process his fast sentences. Her look of scorn bore down on him as she remarked, "What's weaker is that you couldn't go through with it."

He drew himself up, incensed. "You think I'm going to slit my throat for some megalomaniacal self-appointed dictator?" And then, apparently without realizing it, he launched into an indignant tirade about Caesar's declining health and mental ability. Only when he noticed her smug smile did he stop and growl, "I hope the Legion burns your wretched body at the stake when they conquer this place."

Unperturbed, she replaced her helmet. "For a certain individual's sake, let's hope they do." She turned to stride out and pass on the information to Lieutenant Boyd.

"Wait."

She paused to glance back at him.

"Would you at least give me your name?"

A brief second of hesitation ticked by. "I don't have one."

Silus stared hard at her. "That pretty face of yours has a knack for getting tongues to wag, but it also bears the shadow of a spirit that is vengeful. Vindictive." He grew solemn, less antagonistic. "In Latin, we call that _vindicta_. If you are in want of a name, consider that one from a man you have condemned and dismissed in the blink of an eye."

She regarded him a few moments more before stalking away. Veronica flitted to her side immediately, and she relayed what she'd learned from Silus to Boyd. In the middle of her report, however, the telltale vertigo and lightheadedness encroached on her. She accepted the reward from Boyd and headed for the exit in hasty strides. Both Arcade and Veronica picked up on the impending trouble and trailed close behind.

Once outside, Arcade grabbed her arm just as she began perceiving an odd moving sensation. He and Veronica steered her to a nearby tent, both speaking in soothing tones as consciousness crept away. As soon as Veronica managed to yank off her helmet, she surrendered to her condition against her will once again. In the next instant, the convulsions took over her body, took away her control.

A few minutes later, she came to. Lying on her side, she heard Veronica's voice beckoning to her, bidding her to wake. Something warm leaked out of her mouth, and the sharp pain on the tip of her tongue told her she'd bitten it again. A soft cloth pressed to her lips, and Veronica's careful fingers wiped away the blood and saliva running down her cheek. Arcade crouched behind her, pressing steady hands to her arms to help her up as soon as the lingering disorientation passed.

Both her companions looked worried and taxed, but relief lit their faces when she recovered and nodded in reassurance.

"Your seizures are occurring more frequently, but at least now you can usually detect an oncoming spell," Arcade commented. "Are you sure you'll be okay to go on, Six?"

"Vindicta."

"Pardon?"

The woman formerly known as Courier Six straightened. "Vindicta. Or Vin. Call me that from now on."

Veronica held onto her wrist, tugging it as her brow furrowed in vexation. "Did that Legion swine say something to you?"

Vin reached for her helmet. "Yes, but it made sense. He said it means 'vindictive' in Latin, which is fitting for me." When she ensured she was steady on her feet, she led the way back out of the tent.

The other two followed, and they came to a halt in the middle of Camp McCarran, where they peered up at the Lucky 38 tower in the New Vegas Strip. Beyond that, her quarry awaited, though he didn't know it yet. She swallowed the small drops of blood left on her tongue, unmindful of the scar that would join the others. They were marks of her continued survival. No matter how damaged she was after that near-death incident outside Goodsprings, she still lived.

"Quake in that checkered suit, Benny. Hearing loss, seizures… nothing will stop me from taking what you owe me," she murmured.

Arcade peered at her. "Dare I ask what that is?"

She lowered her eyes, felt the familiar ache of loss and resentment. Veronica placed an affectionate hand on her shoulder, but the antipathy consumed her. Hopes and dreams of becoming a performer had shattered with the bullet that had entered her skull. Singing talent, wasted. Dancing skill, destroyed.

_You want to know what Benny owes me?_

Vin's green eyes snapped up again, the flames of vengeance burning in their depths. "A future."


End file.
